Eggs, transfer, monitoring, waiting, hope : motherhood
real life fierce free verse fable
Fourth shot, double dose.
The first time has been an adventure.
The day of the transfer?
Snow and sciatica. Even a bit of fog. Up here in the North you can cut it with a knife. A grey blanket preventing wishes.
The second time? Back and forth, from an airport to another one and, after monitoring, quickly at home. And an injection at the airport, the time has come and punctuality is everything in these situations not only when you have to take a train, above all when you have a date with your life finding hard to reproduce itself.
And you, you have just to give it a tap. And every time you hope it will be the right one, that dealt well one.
The therapy of bombing for lazy follicles, to titillate.
The third time we were in the mountains. Levy and transfer to process.
And someone wound up dead to whom I cannot say goodbye.
Monitoring and then waiting, again.
The fourth time has just begun: a groovy protocol, a double massive ration, they call it. To redouble hope and phase shift and I will be so up that when I will fall, it will hurt more because waiting is letting go without monitoring, too much, just often. When necessary.
But this time, this time will be the right one.
I have a dog, yet.
Then I will get another one, if it doesn’t work.
Who knows if my body will hold the attack. I must then I can.
I bought a plenty of tissues since injections make me sensitive to every tiny thing.
I learnt to be punctual. Belly to pierce. Bruises to caress.
An arnica cream.
The grief of the body to let go.
That one of the heart not to listen to.
I will be mother despite eggs, levies and monitoring, just by the strength of my burning hope.
